Lipgloss
by camdendollybird
Summary: After months of arguing with Vince, Howard finally thinks he's got a solution to it. But things go from bad to worse when his flatmate is abducted right under his nose. Assisted by rogue Shamans, a gorilla with a rifle, and his stoned landlord, will Howard beat his mysterious enemy and recover Vince before it's too late? Join us on our journey to find out! Eventual!Howince.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: A few of you may have read a few chapters into this story before- I stupidly posted some before I'd edited them properly, so apologies if you have. This fic will be regularly updated as I've finished writing it already. The final product will be about 16-17k, and if there is enough demand (reviews etc) I have an idea for a sequel. I'd also love anyone who's willing to do some artwork for it. **

**Hope you are all well!**

**Isabelle x**

Chapter 1

The moon smiled stupidly down on Camden, its light faintly illuminating the torrential rain that had been pouring from the sky nearly all day. All of London was soaked, and seen as there weren't many shoppers out; most shopkeepers had taken the rain as an excuse to close for the day. Not this one.

Howard Moon, jazz maverick, was attempting to write some new cream poetry, and was becoming increasingly frustrated. Nothing seemed right. The cream format just wasn't working for him anymore- perhaps he should enter a new poetry period, move on to other dairy products. Milk monologues, were they a possibility?

He sighed, disheartened. It was no use; he had writer's block, or poet's drought, something along those lines. No wonder, seen as his roommate seemed to know instinctively when he was about to have a spate of genius and immediately start caterwauling "The Human League"...

The doorbell tinkled, and in walked his roommate. Vince Noir, charcoal locks fashionably rumpled and dark eyeliner smudged messily around his wide blue eyes. He was wearing what looked like a cape made out of a ripped up bin bag (which was dotted with sequins, Howard noted dazedly) teamed with his Joan Jett jumpsuit, glittery silver platform boots and lots of accessories.

"Alright?" muttered Vince as he came over to the counter and sat next on one of the shop's rickety chairs, putting his feet up onto the shop counter- and right onto Howard's new jazz encyclopedia.

"I would be if you hadn't just got muddy water all over my new book!" Howard cried, frantically snatching it out from under Vince's feet and hugging it to himself like a newborn baby. Vince raised his eyebrows.

"Cool yer boots! Blimey Howard, you'd think I'd killed a kitten by the look on your face!"

Howard frowned. "This was expensive, Vince. Not only that, but it has worth beyond its material value. Not that I'd expect you to understand that, you, with your little trinkets and knickknacks that you replace the minute it ceases to look good!" Howard chuckled to himself, and leant back in his chair. He was shocked when he realised Vince was on his feet, and he looked angry.

"I'm sick of you, Howard! I can never do anything bloody right around here, can I? If it's not my friends, it's my dress sense, and if it's not my dress sense it's my music taste. You make me feel thick whenever you talk to me, like I'm not worth knowing and you don't give a shit about me or how I feel. I do have feelings, you know, although it might surprise you! If you think that you can be awful to me, then you can stuff this "friendship" up your arse!"

Vince was shouting, eyes narrowed and hands on hips. Howard was stunned.

"I'm...Vince...VINCE!" He stuttered, but it was too late, his roommate had already stalked out the door into the night and slammed it behind him with a resounding crash. The "Open" sign fell off the door and fell forlornly to the floor.

Howard felt sick. Why did they keep arguing? It was happening more and more...and now this had happened.

Howard was disgusted with himself. Why, oh why, had he basically implied Vince was shallow and uncaring? He might be a little...misguided about certain things, but he was one of the sweetest and most generous people he'd ever met. Why, last Christmas...

Howard sank into memories.

A few nights before Christmas Eve, Howard had woken gasping from a feverish dream in which he'd chased beetles the size of cats around the Nabootique, and had been about to stumble into the kitchen as he was desperate for a glass of water. Before he entered it, he realized he heard something. Someone was crying. Soft, gasping little sobs that they were obviously attempting to stifle. It didn't sound like Naboo, or Bollo- surely it wasn't-?

He edged into the room, and saw to his great surprise that it was indeed Vince. Usually his flatmate stayed out extremely late over the festive season, partying until the early hours of the morning with people who were far trendier and cooler than Howard could ever hope to be. Howard hadn't even checked to see if he'd come home that evening, as Vince rarely arrived before eight am at Christmas-time.

"Vince?" he'd whispered. The latter had looked up; his usually perfectly made up face a teary mess of eyeliner and mascara. He'd emitted a gulping, pathetic sob which made something twist deep inside Howard, and it was all he could do not to rush over to him and envelop Vince in a hug there and then. However, Howard knew Vince well enough not to- when Vince was upset you didn't crowd him unless he asked you to.

"Howard?" Vince had sniffed. "'M alright, you can go back to bed, 'm fine-"

Howard didn't take Vince's direction and instead turned his back on the young man, busying himself with putting the kettle on. The gently hissing steam broke the silence and covering the sound of Vince's crying.

"Want to talk about it?" Howard had asked softly, knowing not to pressure him. Sometimes a hug and a cup of tea would do, but occasionally Vince told him what was wrong in full detail. Although it meant that he was properly upset, Howard secretly enjoyed those occasions. It seemed to him that he was the only person who could see the heart that beat under Vince's colourful, shiny exterior, the only one who Vince could turn to on the rare occasions when there was a crack in his armour.

"Yeah, a bit. If you don't mind, that is...if you're too tired, it's alright," babbled Vince, attempting to wipe the makeup off his cheeks and instead smudging it even more.

"It's fine, Vince." Howard said, adding "It's always fine," in his head. He quickly made two cups of tea, black no sugar for him and five sugars with lots of milk for Vince. Carefully, he carried them from the counter and set them down on the coffee table, making sure he didn't slop the tea out of the mugs. Even their tea mugs were drastically different to each other- Vince's was emblazoned with the Rolling Stones' logo and a glitter-glue smiley face, Howard's mug had a picture of a trumpet on the outside and a Charlie Mingus lyric around the rim.

Howard settled himself next to Vince, and took a gulp of his tea. He looked round at Vince, who was cradling his mug against his chest and was sitting with his legs tucked protectively under him. Howard stared at his mug as he said:

"Tell us what's wrong then. Must be something serious, you've ruined your eyeliner." Vince gave a half-laughing, half-crying sound at that.

"'Suppose so, yeah. My-my girlfriend and me, we broke up, a few days ago. I don't even know why, she didn't say. I was really upset, you know, I liked her a lot. She was funny and had this amazing hair, dark, with red streaks. But we had this massive argument, it was really stupid," Vince gasped loudly and tried to swallow a sob again. He edging closer to Howard without looking at him "And we broke up. I've been calling her for ages but she won't text me or anything, so I sent her this for a Christmas present."

He put something into Howard's hand, still warm from his clenched fist. Howard slowly opened his hand, to find a pendant necklace, broken up into pieces. He fitted the pieces back together, to find they made a small v-shaped silver guitar. It was a sweet gift, he thought, exactly the sort of thing Vince's crowd would like, pretty and ornamental. He handed it carefully back to Vince.

"She smashed it up?" Vince nodded. He looking exhausted from days of partying and the traumas of that evening. "Oh Vince..."

"I really liked her." Vince's voice cracked slightly.

"I know." Howard replied, one arm around Vince's shoulders.

"And then she saw me in a club this evening and said that I was trying to buy her off so that we'd get back together, and I didn't mean it to be like that, Howard! I just wanted to be friends again, and get her a nice Christmas present, that's all. Now everyone just thinks I'm a weirdo who tries to bribe girls to go out with him. I'm useless." There was a deeply sad look in Vince's eyes as he pronounced this damning judgement of himself which Howard hated.

"Vince, you're not useless. You're Mowgli, remember!" Howard tried in vain to make Vince laugh, but it wasn't working.

"Not even the animals will talk to me anymore, Howard. I tried chatting to a pigeon the other day and it told me to piss off." Vince sighed deeply, head leaning against Howard's shoulder. Howard noted vaguely that his hair smelled nice- like strawberries.

"Well, who speaks to pigeons, eh? Vince, you're tired. Go to bed, little man, everything'll be better in the morning."

And Vince had gone to bed, still teary. It had taken Howard a long time to follow him, though. He worried about Vince sometimes. His emotions were so easily disrupted that one day someone would come along and do real damage. Something that Howard might not be able to fix.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"Vince, I'm really sorry, please come home. It's pouring with rain, you wouldn't want to mess up your hair, would you! Ha ha ha..." Howard sighed, his false laugh petering out. "I don't mean it like that, but just...please come home."

"Vince, I'll meet you somewhere if you want? Anywhere, I don't mind. Please, just ring me back."

"Vince! Look, you better come home in the next five minutes or I'll...set fire to your Gary Numan collection. I'm serious!"

"Where are you? I'm worried now, Vince. If you're not home in half an hour I'm going out looking for you."

"This is your last chance, if you're not home in ten minutes..."

...Hi, this is Vince Noir, Mayor of Camden. If I'm not picking up it's probably because I'm unconscious, dead, or I don't want to talk to you. Bye!

Howard had lost count of how many messages he'd left; to Vince's stylish friends, to Vince, to everyone. Nobody was picking up.

"For God's sake..." he mumbled, grinding his palms into his forehead. After feverishly considering different courses of action, he realized he only had one left- to go looking for Vince. He'd probably tell him to piss off when- if, Howard found him, but at least it would ease Howard's conscience. He was now seriously beginning to worry, even though he knew it was irrational.

His mind was made up. He was going out.

...

Several miles away

Fuck, thought Vince Noir, fuck fuck fuck. He'd just smashed a cocktail glass by accident while he was stumbling to get another drink, and now the bartender was screaming at him.

"Get out! You're not having another bloody drink in that state, Mister!" He bellowed, gesturing to the door. Vince felt like he'd lost control of his legs, he was struggling to keep upright.

"I'm not even that drunk!" He slurred, trying to put his hands on his hips indignantly but missing by a mile.

"Oh yes you are! Boys, take him outside!" The angry bartender jerked his thumb at Vince, who realised with annoyance that it was no good resisting. The bouncers looked like two overgrown trolls, and he prided himself on his waifish figure.

He allowed himself to be taken outside, still fuming. This was a really shit evening. He'd only gone out clubbing to get away from all the rubbish in his life, and look where it'd got him. Out the back of some nightclub, in an alleyway that stank of piss and rotting litter, chucked out like yesterday's Cheekbone.

Vince furiously wiped a hand over his eye, and then cursed when it came away covered with mascara. Couldn't anything go right today? All his mates would be out and no club would let him in while he was in this state. Either he could crash out in this alleyway, or go home and face Howard...

No. He had some pride left, if nothing else.

Vince kicked a nearby dustbin in frustration, and sunk down the brink wall, shivering as the freezing wind cut through his jumpsuit. He hugged his knees to his chest to try and keep warm, feeling a few tears slip down his face and onto his sequined knees. Washed up, pathetic and unwanted, that was him.

He didn't know how long he dozed for until he was woken by footsteps nearby. He looked up, head spinning, to see a group on drunks laughing loudly and swaggering into the end of the alleyway. They were swearing loudly and looked vicious- one of them had a long scar over his eye and a tattooed neck. Vince shivered and stared at his Chelsea boots, hoping they wouldn't notice him when they walked past, but that was not to be.

"Oi, Jamie, look at this idiot!"

"Get out of here before we cut you up."

"Hey, look at his outfit- well gay, innit?"

"Got any money, twat? You won't have for long!" Vince gave a small laugh and wished fervently that they'd leave him alone, but that was clearly a wrong move.

"You laughing at us? Are you?!"

"No, course not-"

"Think he was!"

"Get him!"

They gathered round him, tall, tracksuited figures blocking any way of escape. One grabbed Vince's shoulder, then picked him up and shoved him back against the brickwork, holding a serrated knife to his throat. He couldn't breathe, could feel the sharp blade digging into his throat, could only hear his only short gasps of terror, he couldn't move, couldn't run, oh god he was going to die-

"Grab his phone, will ya? Looks expensive, we can flog it to Tyler."

Vince heard their conversation faintly, but the world was spinning and black dots were appearing in front of his eyes, the streetlamp was going backwards, away from him-

He slumped down the wall, his vision fading into darkness.

...

"Well, where did you last see him?" Howard asked impatiently. He was on the phone with one of Vince's friends, having finally managed to get hold of someone. Vince was still unavailable. "That's really not very helpful, I've already called him and he isn't picking up-"

Howard had been walking around the streets of Camden for hours now, and there was still no sign of Vince. Moreover, the information he was getting from this "Crazy Keith" was limited to say the least.

_"I dunno, man, he was completely plastered, kept saying he hated this dude called Howard, and then got chucked out of Bitch Bar."_ Howard's heart sank. So, it was true, Vince hated him. He clenched his fists, annoyed with himself. Vince had every right to hate him, they'd been arguing so much over the last few months ever since that...incident. The one that had started everything.

Three Months Ago:

_"Howard?" whispered Vince seductively, "It's okay. Just relax..." and his flatmate had clambered up his body to plant his lips on Howard's own. This kiss was nothing like the one that took place at his fiasco of a birthday party, when Howard was in shock for most of it; this was slow, sensual, leading to something more, specifically Vince's hands stealing down Howard's body..._

Howard sat up in bed, gasping for breath. What had just happened? He grabbed a cup from his bedside, sipped it, and then spat it out- cold tea, disgusting. Why had he had a dream- he refused to call it a sex dream- about Vince, of all people?

He reasoned with himself frantically- of course Vince was attractive, but not Howard's type at all, no sir! Howard liked people of fearsome intelligence, who appreciated the wonderful music of jazz! No, it was just a strange dream. Howard Moon would never be attracted to someone who preferred David Bowie (whoever he was) to funk. Never, and that was that.

However, no matter how much Howard reasoned with himself, he couldn't explain the strange feeling in the pit of his stomach whenever Vince walked into the shop wearing some (very tight) new clothing. Instead, he found himself making some sarcastic comment. He never knew why; the moment he said it he regretted it and it only made the odd ache in his throat stronger.

And the dreams wouldn't stop either. Night after night, he would wake up sweating, aroused and panting, to be disappointed by an empty bed next to him. He became more and more bitter, finding reasons to stay in the shop all day and do nothing, avoiding Vince as much as was humanly possible. It was all Vince's fault, Howard told himself for the millionth time, no-one should walk around in trousers that tight, they'd do themselves an injury.

The first argument happened a few days after the initial dream. Vince had been quiet that afternoon, sensing Howard's bad mood, and had only ventured to speak to him once. However, once was enough.

"You alright, Howard? You seem a bit...down." Howard had immediately snapped back a retort at him, before Vince could pose anymore probing questions.

"I'm fine, thanks. We can't all be sunshine people all the time, though it might seem easy to you." He thought he'd caught a flash of hurt in Vince's eyes, but then the latter had bustled out the shop in a whirl of feathers and glitter to go shopping.

The more distant he became from everyone, the more miserable he felt. He heard Naboo and Bollo debating whether they should hit him or hug him, which annoyed him even more. He wasn't some head case! Howard Moon, jazz genius, was simply a little quiet at the moment! Most artists were, weren't they? It was normal for him to not speak that much, and simply natural to be a little more isolated than the others. The problem was that no-one understood him, no-one realized he needed space to create his poetry and music. Great works of art weren't made overnight!

And yet, he wasn't satisfied with anything he wrote at the moment. It was all old, things he'd done before. These stupid dreams were obviously blocking his creative flow, and to stop the dreams he needed to stop seeing and thinking about Vince. It wasn't easy, when he kept asking Howard if he was okay.

Vince seemed to be more upset these days, too. Perhaps he was having trouble creatively too? Oh well, Howard couldn't help him with that. He'd be next to no use, what with him doing so badly himself...

The dreams had got worse and worse, and Howard's mood got worse with them. He and Vince rarely spoke any more, and then only brusquely to ask for sugar over breakfast or something similar. Vince would go out clubbing later and later, until finally he wouldn't arrive back before eight in the morning. Then, he would troop into the shop wordlessly, go upstairs for a shower and go to bed.

The atmosphere in the flat had got thicker and thicker, punctuated brief outbursts between Howard and Vince. They would begin over the smallest things, like hair products left in the shower, and grow until the two of them were screaming at each other.

The tension would ease slightly after the argument subsided, but then would brew again until the exact same thing happened. Neither of them wanted to be the first to break the silence, and so their respective moods became worse and worse.

Naboo seemed frustrated with Howard mostly, which Howard thought was unfair. It took two people to make an argument! But when he had confronted Naboo about it, the shaman had rolled his eyes and told him to piss off, and that Bollo and him were off for a week for the "International Shaman Conference," whatever that was.

The next week had been even more miserable. They had barely spoken, and if the tension was bad while Naboo and Bollo were around it was abysmal now. Each person seemed to be going out of their way to irritate each other. Vince intentionally left his boots all over the shop stairs, and Howard played the trumpet for hours in the early morning when he knew Vince had a raging hangover from the night before.

It had all culminated in the argument when Vince had stormed out of the shop, and Howard had realized the true extent of their arguments. Had he really made Vince hate him? Their friendship was in tatters, and he only hoped they could fix it before it was too late.

Howard made his way to the Bitch Bar eventually, after getting lost a lot. The directions Crazy Keith had given him were not very descriptive, to say the least, but after asking a few strangely dressed locals, he got to the club. He knew he'd be refused entrance, and so wasn't surprised when the bouncer waved him away.

"Not really your scene, is it, Corduroy?" Howard gritted his teeth.

"I don't want to go in; I'm looking for my mate Vince. One of his friends said he got chucked out for being drunk, do you know where he went?"

The security guard looked at the other bouncer and shook his head. The bouncer spoke.

"I know we tossed some geezer out the back, but I don't think he'll be there still."

"So you threw someone so drunk they couldn't walk out into a dark alleyway on a night like this?" Howard asked incredulously.

"Yeah, what's it to do with you?" The security guard snickered, obviously amused. "Your boyfriend, was he?" His friend seemed to find this joke incredibly funny and roared with laughter.

"Ha ha." Howard replied, sarcastically. "Where's the alleyway?" The guards were still bent over with laughter, but one managed to point to a wooden door set into the wall a few feet away.

Howard pushed the door open and began to walk down the alleyway. It stank, of rubbish and sick and who knew what else. He shivered in the rain that was still falling thick and fast, and pulled out a small torch from his pocket, as he couldn't see a thing. The streetlamp that was meant to illuminate the floor was broken, and the only light came from the moon overhead, which seemed unusually sombre.

He had made his way down about twenty feet of the alleyway, and was about to give up on the search, when he saw something. A small figure, curled up on its side next to a wheelie bin.

Howard's stomach gave a horrible lurch...it couldn't be. No, he refused to allow it! He ran quickly over the debris littering the paving stones beneath his feet, and dropped to his knees in front of the figure.

"Vince?" The figure raised its head- and confirmed Howard's worst fears. Cold, shivering and abandoned, was Vince Noir. His face was bruised, his lips were swollen, and there was blood covering a large section of his forehead. Howard would barely have recognised him save for the distinctive outfit he was wearing.

"No, no, Vince, what happened?"

"I don't know, Howard. I don't know."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

In the months to come, Howard would look back on that moment many times. The way he had found his best friend in the world huddled in litter because he didn't want to go home to him. That Vince would rather sleep in a dank pile of rubbish than anywhere near him.

But for the moment, he couldn't let himself break down. That would have to happen later, out of Vince's sight.

He hesitated for a moment, then pulled Vince into his arms and cradled him gently, taking care not to jar him in case he had more serious injuries than Howard realized. One arm supported Vince's legs, the other curled round his back and under his neck. Vince let out a small, choked sound which brought tears to Howard's eyes. He swallowed them roughly, and concentrated on getting out of the alley onto the street, where he could borrow a phone and call an ambulance.

"Vince, can you remember anything?" He asked quietly, trying to distract him from the obvious pain he was in. Vince was tried to shake his head- and stopped quickly, wincing.

"No- wait, hang on. Um, there were some guys- they called me gay...one of them had a knife. I can't remember much after that."

Vince said, his eyelids fluttering. Howard was alarmed. He wasn't a medical man, but he knew that someone with a head injury shouldn't go to sleep. He stopped walking, and gave Vince a shake.

"Wake up, little man." Vince simply gave a sigh and closed his eyes again. Howard gritted his teeth.

"Sorry about this," he said quietly, and slapped Vince hard across the face. The effect was immediate; he jerked awake like someone had just thrown a bucket of cold water over him.

"What did you do that for?" Vince slurred loudly. "Get off me Howard, I'm fine." He attempted to wriggle out of Howard's arms, but he wasn't having any of it.

"Vince, I'm taking you to hospital, and that's that. You got beaten up, you're about as far from 'fine' as it's possible to be." Howard pronounced firmly. With that, he carried the protesting man out onto the street and plonked him down on a large table inside a 24 hour cafe, using the shopkeeper's landline to call an ambulance.

After the hurried phone call, Howard went back to sit with Vince, who had his head on the cafe table. Howard put a hand on his back, but Vince slapped it away.

"Get off me." There was ice in his tone. Howard flinched slightly.

"Vince...I'm so sorry." Vince snorted derisively.

"Yeah, right. You're meant to be my mate. We haven't spoken for weeks. How d'you think it makes me feel when you just stop talking to me one day?"

"I know, I'm really-"

"I don't care, Howard. Leave me alone." Vince's head was still on the table. He said everything without looking at Howard.

...

The ambulance arrived about ten minutes later, but it felt like an hour. They sat in silence, not looking at each other. Howard ached to reach out and hold Vince, but kept his distance. Right now, he'd probably get a broken nose for trying, and one he completely deserved.

He contemplated trying to explain to Vince exactly why he'd been not talking to anyone and basically acting like a wanker, but the truth was that he didn't really know himself. He didn't want to try and sort out the painful mess of feelings he was experiencing at the moment, and he hated himself for being a coward. For not wanting to admit that-

The screech of sirens broke his train of thought, and he stood up awkwardly.

"Come on Vince, we've got to go."

"I'll walk." Vince said, attempting to stand up and failing miserably. He grudgingly allowed Howard to help him across the pavement and into the ambulance, but wouldn't let him sit in the back next to him. Howard went and sat in the front with the driver and explained what he thought had happened. The driver nodded sagely.

"Lover's tiff, was it? When he ran off."

Howard was nonplussed.

"Sorry, what?" The driver rolled his eyes.

"Are you a couple?"

"No, no, we're not. Just friends." The word "couple" sent a shiver through Howard's spine, but he ignored it and stared fixedly at the road in front.

"Heard that one before." The driver muttered.

...

Vince hated hospitals. Ever since he'd broken his foot tripping over in a pair of boots a few years previously, and had to spend two weeks in one, he'd despised the places. They were boring, stank of antiseptic, and were a bit scary. Last time he'd been in one, at least he'd had Howard. Howard, who was the last person he wanted to see now. He ruffled his hair and wondered faintly how things had managed to change so much over a few months.

"Vince Noir?" A doctor poked her head round the curtains that were pulled round his bed. He nodded, and she sat on the end of his bed. She was pretty, he thought, dark red hair and green eyes, but he was hardly up to flirting.

"Well, it's obvious you've been pretty badly beaten up," she smiled, "but there's no sign of broken bones. You've actually been relatively lucky, believe it or not."

"'Suppose so," Vince replied moodily. "When can I go home?"

"We want to keep you here for another hour, just to make sure you haven't got concussion. However, if you feel fit enough to go home after that, then we won't keep you."

"'Kay. Thanks, that's good." He waited for her to go, but she didn't.

"One more thing- we have to check. The man that you arrived with...he was the one that found you. He didn't...?" She gestured towards Vince's injuries. Vince shook his head.

"No, he'd never do that." The woman looked visibly relieved; obviously dealing with abuse victims wasn't her weekly highlight.

"Great. Would you like us to fetch him for you?"

"No. Yes. I don't know." Vince didn't know what to do. One part of him wanted to hit Howard, the other part of him wanted to hug him.

"You're going to have to speak to him at some point, if you're flatmates." She said softly. Vince raised his eyebrows at her.

"How d'you know that?" The doctor shrugged apologetically.

"It's in your file, he's your emergency contact." Anger flared inside Vince. Why did he have to be so reliant on Howard? Look what happened when Howard decided not to care anymore. He, Vince, collapsed.

"He might be my flatmate, but he's also a wanker." The doctor laughed, and stood up to leave.

"Word of advice. Don't throw a friendship away over something that's not worth it," she spoke hurriedly, anxious to be gone. "I did once, and it was the worst mistake of my life."

Vince sighed. The doctor was right; he'd have to speak to Howard anyway.

"Alright then. Just for five minutes."

...

Howard was sat in the patient's waiting room. Several hospital staff had already asked him whether he'd like to go and visit his relation or friend, but he'd explained that they'd argued.

He twiddled his thumbs, blinking away the tears blurring his eyes. Guilt and sadness clenched his stomach into knots, and no matter how he tried to distract himself he couldn't help re-running the events of that evening in his head. Stop it, he thought, you can't change things once you've done them. But however hard he tried to reason with himself, he couldn't help feeling terrible.

"Mr Moon?" A doctor was standing over him. He blinked stupidly up at her.

"Yes?" She beckoned him to follow her, and lead him through a maze of brightly lit corridors while talking to him over her shoulder.

"...We have to do the routine tests still, but after that he'll be free to go home. He's asked to speak to you. Grudgingly, apparently."

Howard allowed himself to be lead into a room, which was as plain and boring as the rest of the hospital. He noted dryly that under any normal circumstances, Vince would probably have decorated the entire ward with glitter by now. As it was, he could see him lying in bed and staring at the ceiling.

"I'll be back in a few minutes," said the doctor, and bustled off out the door. There were no other patients in the ward. Howard coughed awkwardly and sat down on the chair at the foot of Vince's bed.

"Vince, I'm so sorry. D'you really hate me?" The words spilled out before he could stop them.

What a stupid thing to ask. Of course Vince hated him, why wouldn't he, after all that had happened between them over the last few weeks?

Vince sighed. "I don't know at the moment, really. Depends if you explain why you've been like this."

Howard flushed a little. "I don't think I know myself."

Vince's voice was cold when he replied. "Well, you better figure it out, I'm not going to sit around and wait forever." He turned over so he was facing away from him.

Howard felt stupid. He could have said anything, and all he'd basically said was "I dunno." Well done, Howard, nice way to start things off.

"I didn't mean that...I know I've been awful. I know you deserve more than excuses, so- give me a day. And I'll try to sort things out."

Vince didn't say anything, just turned away from Howard, who took that as his cue to go.

If he had waited a few seconds longer, he might have heard a small sob from Vince's bed.

The next fifteen minutes when he waited for Vince to be let out were a blur of indecision and anxiousness, but soon Howard had realized what he had to do to get his friend back. He personally had no idea what was going on in his head, so maybe it was time to ask someone else to figure it out for him.

Soon, Vince was cleared for any signs of concussion, and immediately demanded to go home. Howard hailed a taxi, got Vince home and to bed, without any further conversation between them. It had been a long day, he thought, as he made a cup of tea, a very long day.


End file.
